


Tenebrosi Principio

by spickandspock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Childbirth, Gen, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spickandspock/pseuds/spickandspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tom," she whispered. "Tom Marvolo, for his father and grandfather. T-Tom Marvolo Riddle."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenebrosi Principio

Great, spidery streaks of lightning stretched briefly across the cloudy night sky. Thunder rumbled ominously as the heavily pregnant woman hobbled through the streets, clutching her bulging stomach. The pounding rain had soaked her filthy, tattered dress, and her dark hair hung in wet, greasy strands down her back, a few stray locks clinging to her fevered brow. Frantic eyes desperately searched the empty streets for shelter. 

Another blindingly bright flash illuminated the sky, causing the woman to cringe and look towards the heavens. To her great surprise and relief, in her peripheral vision, she spotted what looked to be a functioning, if not dilapidated, orphanage.

Hope surged in her, only to be quickly snatched away as, when she took her first steps across the cobblestone road, she doubled over in pain, gasping for breath and grasping at her swollen belly. The streetlamp above flickered, as did her strength, but as her child kicked inside of her, she knew she had to carry on. Her weary mind issued commands to the rest of her frail form, and soon she found herself staggering up the four rickety steps that led to the porch of her destination.

A mixture of rain, sweat, and tears trickled down her gaunt face as she fell to her knees on the stoop. Her voice was weak and hoarse as she cried for help, for someone, anyone. The cold, biting wind stung and raised gooseflesh on her ashen skin as she lifted an arm (the other curled protectively over her protruding torso), curled her trembling hand into a fist, and allowed it to thud against the door once, twice, three times.

No one came, and guilt flooded her as the baby kicked again. She would die on that doorstep, and so would her child. Her precious babe would never see the world and the wonders therein, would never have the sunshine smiling down on its bonny face. It would never have the chance to live, and it was all her fault.

But wait! What was that sound? Was that the sound of footsteps, or was her feverish mind playing cruel tricks? No, no, those were most certainly the sound of footsteps hurrying forward, and the owner of those feet was opening the door!

Several unladylike words flew from the mouth of the woman above her, and the pregnant lady found herself being lifted and half-carried, half-dragged inside. She was placed on a hastily cleared off table, and then all became a blur of movement and sound. Soon enough, she was being told to push, and she obeyed, a strangled sob escaping her quivering lips as she did so. Another order, another push, another cry. One last, mighty push, accompanied by a raw, visceral scream, and then all was silent. Then, finally, the quiet was shattered by the newborn's shrill wail.

A boy, they told her as he was placed in her arms. A small smile crossed the mother's face, and for a moment, she was nearly pretty.

"Tom," she whispered. "Tom Marvolo, for his father and grandfather. T-Tom Marvolo Riddle." 

She clutched the child to her breast, a quaking finger trailing down the babe's soft cheek. "I hope he looks like his papa," she breathed.

Finally, her chest rose and fell for the last time as a chilling death rattle escaped her. Her grip on the child slackened. Merope Gaunt was dead.


End file.
